Strawberry Skies
by Mettemorphose
Summary: A series of fluffy, unconnected one-shots of Hayffie. All drabbles and stupid, but maybe they will make you smile? :) *Rating may change if I get any risky ideas, I promise I will warn in authors note*


**Author's note:** Oh wow this is stupid :'D Hahaha... I was inspired by a post from "Imagine your OTP" on tumblr that said: _"Imagine your OTP dressing up in each other's clothes… or wearing each other's underwear." (_ /9jta495) _- _I chose not to try to imagine Haymitch in a bra... But .. yeah no.

First one shot in this series! :)

* * *

"I'm warning you, Trinket, this is not going to end well," Haymitch said with a dangerous connotation, as the grin on her face grew wider. The candyfloss-like wig in her hand caught the light and he felt the need to run for his dignity.

"Awww, Haymitch, you're such a baby, come here," she said and jumped towards him faster than he thought she was able to, now released from the shackles of her high heeled shoes. He couldn't get himself to fight her, afraid to hurt her for real, so when she pinned him triumphantly down he just shook his head so forcefully that she wouldn't be able to get that ratty thing on him, while he got her grip loosened and sprinted across the room towards the machine that dispended food and drink. He quickly pushed the 'glass of water'-button (it was used so often it was on a sort of speed-dial) and took the glass instantly granted to him by the machine.

"Trinket, you will get wet if you come one stop closer," he threatened her and looked her straight in the eye, trying to keep the smile of his face. They were at war, nobody smiles in a war.

"But Haymitch, you would be so handsome. It's _in_ to show your _femininity_,_" _she teased him, but kept her distance. He smirked at her and looked at the white tank top she was wearing. Now if he could only aim the ice-cold contents of the glass right then the thin fabric would –

"Effie!" he leapt what he felt was half a metre into the air when she was suddenly beside him, trying to reach over his head with the wig, with hands so skilled at putting on fake hair that she almost succeeded. What she didn't calculate on was him being so tall compared to him, now without her heels to her advantage, she could barely reach her destination properly and he was quick to uhm… _spill_ the water down her shirt. She screamed and covered the now translucent fabric covering her up, though Haymitch wouldn't see anything he hadn't thoroughly _inspected_ before.

"Oh it's on," Effie didn't even try to be gentle and playful when she looked up and Haymitch was once again surprised by her speed. He felt the soft curls around his cheeks and heard her squeal with glee before he pressed her against the nearest wall causing a horrendous lamp to fall to the floor with a heavy _thump._

"You look like an ugly version of Caesar Flickerman's wife," she cried with tears of laughter streaming down her face. Haymitch reached up and touched the wig, then looked back at her and broke out into a laugh.

"_Oh daaaaarling, it's simply hoooorrible," _he said in what he thought was a very good Capitol accent. Effie almost fell to the floor laughing, but he caught her in his arms and swung her around only holding her suspended in his grip over the floor. She kept her hands on his shoulders, exposing the see-through fabric of her top. There was something insanely sexy about her in her pyjamas in the first place and this added bonus only made it better.

"If you let go, I'll murder you," Effie said and shot him a suspicious look.

"_But daaaarling,"_ Haymitch let her go for a tiny second before he caught her again.

"Haymitch!" she warned him and pulled herself up towards him awkwardly taking steps back when she found her ground and digging her fingers into his shoulders to get on her feet after he had – quite literally – swept her of them. Though she had gained ground again he never let go of her their position turned into an embrace where he made sure to shake the pink curls in her face to annoy her, while he slowly guided her towards the bathroom, a plan forming in his mind.

Looking in the mirror he saw the true horror of the contortion on his head, but he wouldn't take it off, not before he'd made her taste her own medicine. She didn't stop laughing at his new – in her eyes probably _improved –_ look. He'd improve her look too alright. He looked around for his desired object while she chatted away and patted him on the head. When he found what he was looking for his smile crept wider and he pinned her against the full body mirror with one hand, while he with theatrical precision drew the most dazzling stereotypical moustache on her with black liquid eyeliner. It wasn't as beautiful and precise as he wanted it to be – hard to do something so … _intricate_ when she was squirming even in his persistent grip.

"You look _amaaaaazing,_" he said, the fake Capitol accent cracking as he laughed so hard his stomach ached from the contractions. She stared at him in disbelief and then looked at them together in the mirror across the room.

"Oh you too," she said trying to imitate a countryish 12-accent, but failing miserably because her own voice was naturally high pitched to the point where she couldn't be from anywhere but here without sounding like a product of some kind of voice enhancement.

Haymitch looked at her and roughed up her hair a bit, so it looked messy.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed and she blushed as he started looking at her with more intensity. Even with tangled hair and a _fucking moustache _she looked good. "Perfect…" he repeated and kissed her on the lips.


End file.
